Redemption
by StrangeLittleSwirl
Summary: Artemis is given two choices: he and his father go to jail, or he works for MI5 for one mission. He picks the latter, much to his dismay afterwards. What's this about having to physically train?
1. Default Chapter

I do not own Fowl, and probably wouldn't want to if I did.  Everything else though, is owned by this Alias-loving girl.

NOT a Mary Sue, I repeat.  Not a Mary-Sue. I am one of those who'd like to see all Mary-Sues who take themselves seriously killed, and all parody ones to be held up and hailed for their divine genius.

            Artemis tapped his fingers on the table.  He'd places to be, really.  Butler had just left to visit his friend in Limerick to find out about the lenses and Juliet had just taken the first plane to America.  He was now left with his parents.

            Who insisted that he return to school.

            This wasn't good at all.

            However, upon arrival at the school, a man from MI5 had shown up at the school with two options for him: go with them and help them a little bit, or his father would spend the next few years wearing the most non-suiting color neon orange.

            No matter how he felt about the new version of his father, he couldn't allow it; his father had put his past behind him and he should be able to continue to do so.

            The middle-aged man who probably slept on his mother's couch sat across from his now, waiting for Artemis' answer.

            There were phone calls afterward, and then packing, and then Artemis found him self shuffled off to an airport.  Everything happened in a sort of dream like state.

            Suddenly he found himself in the middle of defense classes, espionage lessons, and all around exhausting training.  Although the whole routine was far from what he'd have picked for himself, he had to keep reminding himself that he was doing this for the sake of his parents, who, Agent Reese had promised, would not know.

            Finally, after six grueling weeks, Artemis arrived back to his sparsely decorated room to see a plane ticket and sadly, not first class.

            He was going to Paris.

            Agent Reese drove him to the airport.

            "I'd like to thank you for all you've done for the agency.  We assure you this whole ordeal will be over shortly enough."

            "It's not an ordeal, Mr. Reese, it's a choice I made.  I'd rather you didn't make it sound like I've been made to do this against my will."

            Reese's shoulders sank a little, as if that fact took away from the power trip he'd been going on so far.

            "A man with a Rugby scarf will be wearing green sneakers."

            Artemis raised an eyebrow.

            "He will be your ride to your apartment.  Be nice to people."

            That last comment caused a strange tweak at his stomach, as though someone he used to know sounded like that.  No one he could think of talked like that.

            The apartment was on the top story, in an old renovated warehouse.  The entire place gave off a cold, sterile feeling.  He didn't like places like that for the most part.  No character.

            There was a steel elevator, the kind that was drawn up by hand.  Instinctively, he stepped aside for Butler to do the honors, forgetting the manservant wasn't there.  Placing his bags down, he pulled, not expecting to make it budge.  Surprisingly, it worked.  In no time he was to the top story.

            The key that Scarf-man had given him worked, and the hallway on the inside led into a hallway.  On either side, there were rooms.  To the right was a kitchen, stainless steel; full of pieces of equipment Artemis barely knew how to use.

            To the left was a living room.  Cold and bold.

            "My, you were quick getting up here," came a voice down the hallway.  Artemis turned his head, now realizing that the apartment took up the entire top floor.  A long hallway of rooms was behind the kitchen.  A dark haired girl about his age came out from the hallway.

            "I take it you are my partner?"

            "Correct."  She stuck out a hand.  "Barbara Damphirski."

            "Artemis Fowl."

            She took one of his bags and brought it down the hall, stopping in front of a closed door and putting the bag down.

            The bedroom was decorated in walnut and burgundy colors, and he liked it very much.  A row of books were on the opposite wall, although he was sure none of them would last the entire span of his stay.

            The field kit he had been given created a bit of a problem as to where to hide it.  However, he settled upon the bathroom.  Beneath the sink was a little cabinet, and it's bottom lifted off with only with only a slight bit of effort.  The perfect hiding place.

            The plan had already been hatched, as far as he could see.  It was made even easier when he saw a web cam was set up on a computer in a study down the hall.  He'd be skipping out the next morning.

            Barbara was sitting at the small table in the kitchen, reading the local newspaper.  He walked in and started over to the refrigerator.  

            The little bits of wood and gray matter on her knees, contrasting against the black, caught his eye. Turning to the opened fridge, he allowed a momentary smirk to pass before realizing something.

            There was a ton of food, but no sign of help to prepare it.  He turned to the girl at the table.

            "Whom, may I ask, will be preparing the food?"

            She looked up for a moment, blinking, before answering.  "We will, I suppose."

            "I'll be the first to admit I am lacking in the field of culinary abilities."

            Barbara smiled.  "I suspected so.  You did have live in help, at least that's what I've gathered."

            "Yes."  He drew out a water bottle, checked it for pricks or an opening, and opened it.  "So I can't say that-"

            "I'm not that great of a chef, but as long as they have Kraft at the supermarket, I can assure you that you and I will be having macaroni and cheese quite a bit."

            "We could eat out."

            Barbara put down the paper and took a bite out an apple in her had.  "They told you our cover story?  And you wouldn't mind putting on a show every night?  It'll get old, after a while."

            They were able to find, surprisingly, a box of macaroni and cheese, as well as two cans of caviar.  They each remembered being asked about foods they enjoyed.

            Properly fed and exhausted from anxiousness, they each retired to their rooms.  Artemis set his alarm early.

            The shower woke him up.  Creeping out of his room, he now saw that the door to the bathroom was closed and hers was open.

            He had to act fast.  His eyes skimmed the room, looking for the corner it'd be under.  There; the back left one.  There were a few splinters sticking to the bottom of the wall.

            The shower turned off and he bolted out of the room and back into his room.

            The address was in the business section of town; the building was a modern one.  Artemis was suffocating in his clothing.  The shirt was tighter than he'd have wanted and he was wearing a leather jacket, of all things. With some reluctance, he died his hair to a red color, and had put in brown contacts.  It had been in his orders.  He was now John Dixon, genius fund-baby turned Russian mafia fledgling who just so happened to have hit it off with Damphirski's daughter.

            Who was sitting next to him, as bejeweled as any old widowed millionaire he had ever met.  Of course, it wasn't out of personal choice -neither was quite happy with what they were wearing- but because some of the jewels were actually cleverly cut camera lenses, and the rest were some of the best imitations he'd ever seen.  The heavy metal settings they were in would set off any alarm, and they both-as well as those who had created them-were hoping that that would be a good enough answer.

            "I really do hate fur."

            He glanced sideways.  They had both already seemed different; Artemis was trying his best to act as debonair and sly, like a character in one of those completely fictitious organized crime rings.  Rubbish they were.

            Barbara was pouting and slouching next to him, one pointy-heeled foot tapping against the side of the car.  She really was acting the part of a spoiled mafia princess, which she was.

            They made their indifferent entrance in.  Fortunately, their prayers were answered, and the answer about the jewel's setting was satisfactory.

            "His name is Dimitrov Henski.  He's been wiping out MI members one by one," she said in hurried Spanish.

            "So that's why they're risking us?"

            "In this case, _non_.  He's my Uncle.  My godfather Dimi."

            Artemis couldn't help but crack a smile.

            "Catarina!  Настолько хорошо увидеть вас!•"  Barbara came forward and gave him a kiss on both cheeks.

            "This is John, Uncle."

            Artemis gave a smirk and swaggered over, a hand out in front.  "Nice to meet you."

            "From the States, I see."

            "Hell, yes."  On the inside he cringed.

            They sat down in the dark leather chairs that really didn't go with the rest of the room.  Barbara crossed her legs and leaned towards Artemis a little, playing with a lock of hair in a fashion that looked scarily like one of Juliet's signature moves.

"So what brings you here."

The pout increased.  "Daddy got mad with me.  He's being a bastard, really, Uncle."

The man wagged a finger at her.  "Watch your mouth."

Artemis leaned forward, hands steepled.  "We want to bite him in the ass."

Barbara gave a little huff, making sure that the camera ring was aimed at Dimitrov.  "He cut me off.  Got remarried."

"I know about that."

"Again."  She slipped off the couch and examined the fish tank.  "He's disowned me, and I know that he annoys you.  It could work."

The man sat for a moment, hand on his mouth thinking.  "I'll have to think about it."

Artemis stood up; he hadn't seen the telltale twitch.  They had him, hook, line, and sinker.  "Call this number when you've made up your mind."

And they left.

"Did he buy it?  I was trying to get a shot of the rest of the building so I couldn't see his face.  No shoulder twitches like he usually has, though."  They were on their way back to the apartment.  Surprisingly, it was still easy.  There'd be enough time to catch a train and be back to school…he was amazed to find he wanted to be back there.

"He's ours."

They arrived back to the apartment and Barbara called for the first shower.  The only thing it seemed that the apartment was lacking was another bathroom.  It worked to his advantage.

The moment she started the water he entered her room and popped the floorboards up and took out the box.  Then all he had to do was lie in wait.

"Do as I say and I won't shoot you."

Her head snapped up, and he nearly regretted doing this, they way she looked in the robe.  Not betrayed, just…

Delicate.

He pushed it out of his mind and focused on the task at hand.  He met her eyes and he could see they were devoid of emotion; she was planning.  Artemis took that moment as the choice one to hold up her field kit.

"You're unarmed, and a pawn.  Go sit down in the living room."

            Barbara did as she was told, and he followed her with the gun still pointed at her.  

            She rounded the corner before him, and he realized that was a very bad thing the same exact moment that a leg whipped out and brought him crashing to the floor.  

            "Obviously, you're not as smart as you think you are, Mr. Fowl."

            He squinted for a moment in confusion, and then realized, with that accompanying empty feeling, that he was staring down the barrel of a gun.  A Glock 26.

            "Oh, fuck."

Suddenly she didn't look so delicate.  Barbara now resembled one of the photographs of her father that he had seen.  Her brown eyes still were stoic, but her mouth was set in a firm line, her hair dripping on him from were she leaned over him.

            "One, I am definitely _not_ unarmed.  Only a dumbass stashes their gun in such an obvious place. Two," she paused and took a breath, the effects of adrenaline wearing off, "I am most _definitely_ not a fucking pawn.  Your little plan wouldn't have worked, since my father disowned me.  You'd have gotten no response from either MI5 or my father.  Hell, he'd probably have played you to kill me.  No more shit, Fowl."

            She helped him up and walked back down the hallway.

            They had lunch in silence.  

            Dinner was the same.

            The cell phone had been left on the kitchen counter, so when it rang at three in the morning, they both scrambled into the kitchen.  

            "'Lo?" 

            Artemis frowned at the next question.  "No, Mr. Henski, you didn't interrupt anything."  Barbara rolled her eyes at that, crossing her arms, and perching herself on the counter.

             Several minutes later, Artemis snapped the phone shut with satisfaction.

            She looked up from the orange she had been playing with.

            "What did he say?"

            He couldn't help but smile.  "We're to go over to dinner and then come with him to a business transaction in two days."

            Barbara grinned and then nodded solemnly.  "I'll make the call to headquarters."

            They were dressed to nines, which, coincidentally was the same time that they were expected for dinner.  The other company was all people of questionable backgrounds, and afterwards they found out each and every one of them had a criminal record, including the chef.

            Afterward they followed to the basement.  They were shown a mess of wires in a Plexiglas bubble.

            "What is it?"

            He already knew.  A bomb.

            "Something new," the Russian grinned.  "We've already begun making them in bulk.  It has multiple sensors."

            Barbara leaned against the wall, crossing her arms.  She flipped her hair over her shoulder.  "For what?"

            He made an impatient face.  "If you are holding someone hostage, and you set up a bomb.  You leave.  Bad luck and they'll be able to somehow disarm it or something."  He held it up and pointed to one part.  "Motion sensor.  Get too close and boom.  Sound sensor.  Heat sensor.  Pretty good, huh?"

            "Pretty bulky."

            Artemis poked it.  

            Barbara came over and draped an arm over his shoulder, looking up at her uncle.          

            "How are we to help you?  Sell it, I mean?"

            He smiled.  "I know you can make people feel inclined.  Does your boyfriend have the balls to, though?"            

            Artemis straightened up.  "What are you getting at?"

            "Could you kill somebody?  If asked?"

            "Yes."

            Dimitrov smiled.  "Good.  You fly to Ireland in two days.  Until then, your welcome to go home or look around or…"

            "We'll find something to do."

            They took the elevator to eleventh floor.  He led Barbara down the hallway to a closet, and then closed them in.

            "What the fuck are you doing?" she hissed.

            He pulled out a PDA and a small piece of plastic.  "Watch and learn." He fished his way into a set of wires and, finding the one he wanted, placed the piece of plastic on it.

            "Brings new meaning to the word 'hacking."

            He uploaded everything he could find.  He'd just hit the end key when she yanked on his arm.  "Someone's coming."

            Hastily, he jammed the PDA away and nestled the wire, plastic still in place, back in the mess of wires.  And then, without a moment's hesitation threw his arms around her.

            The door flung open and the security officer saw a tangle of limbs. 

            "Oh my I-"

            Artemis led her out by the hand, and she gave the guard a nervous smile.  She punched his arm when they were a safe distance away from the building in the car.  

            "Quick thinking, but next time, consult me first."

            Somehow, when she had given him a hand to get up, a strange friendship had been created.  Neither had talked of it, but it now was a little easier to talk while eating.  It turned out that she _could_ cook, well enough, and that they pizza place a few blocks away had reasonably good food.

            The created a routine, for normalcy's sake.  They'd get up at six and after warming up, jog.  As much as he hated it, Artemis knew he'd have to stay in shape.  They'd changed their route every few days, learning the streets better than what was shown on maps they had by now memorized; where good hiding places were, where not to get stuck if followed.

            Half an hour into their routine the next day, they were taking a stop when Artemis saw the reflection of the car.

            "Don't look back, but-"  

            Talk about cliché.

            "Keep jogging," she said through barely parted lips quietly.  "We'll stop at the pizzeria.

            Five minutes later they walked into the air-conditioned restaurant, and it amazed him that although his mind was working quicker than he could really discern, there were people lazily slurping up spaghetti.

            The selection menu was against the window, and it gave them a change to dart a glance at the car now pulled outside.

            "A rookie, obviously," she whispered in Russian.

            "No," he said slowly still thinking.  She voiced her opinions.

            "They wanted to be seen."

            The car peeled away after a while, and she cursed under her breath, pizza midway to her mouth.

            "Government car," he said quietly, sopping up the perspiration from his soda.  "Bastards are keeping tabs on us."

            They finished their food, tossing most of it due to lack of appetite.

            He collapsed onto the couch, covering his face with his hands, trying to keep the migraine at bay.  Something plastic hit the side of his head and Artemis grabbed it.  Aspirin.

            "Thanks."

            She walked across from the kitchen and curled up on the loveseat, biting her thumb thoughtfully.  "I can't wait until this is over, can't you?"

            He nodded.

            "Don't lie, I saw the twitch."

            He exhaled.  "It's better than being in that God awful place I call school.  No one there seems to even be on the same evolutionary level as me."

            "Ever thought of changing to a new school?"

            Interesting idea.

            "My father wouldn't let me."

            "Twitch."

            "Damn."

            For a while they each sat in silence, brooding, and Artemis took the time to try to identify something that'd been bothering him since the beginning; her accent.  Russian when angry, but over it was…

            "You were schooled in England."

            She looked up, eyebrows raised. "What? Oh, yes.  Still being schooled actually.  My mother's sister's paying."

            "Does she know?"

            Barbara laughed.  "She couldn't care less."

            "They forced me into it.  Jail just doesn't seem to pleasant for two Fowls."

            She nodded.  "It was this or go to jail."

            He eyed her.  "For what?"

            "Well, juvee, at least."  She suddenly became solemn.  "It's amazing what people do when they grow up in a fairy tale."

            The conversation dissolved into silence, and after a while, sleep took over.

            Artemis was only happy to oblige.

•= "It's so good to see you!"


	2. The Green, Bloody Hills of Ireland

Chapter Two

            He was awoken by the small sound of glass on metal, and he regained full conscious.   

            "What time is it?"

            "Five," she quickly hurried on.  "Plane's at seven.  I know you'd probably have to preen or something.  Orange juice. You need your vitamin C."

            There was someone else in the room.  He could tell.  Artemis sat up, trying to wipe any signs of sleep away.  It was Agent Niller.

            "How are you, Agent Niller?"  Artemis tore a hand through his hair.

            "Fine.  Great.  You kids?"

            Barbara glanced quickly over at him, noticing the momentary scowl.  'Kids'? "Just fine, sir, thank you very much.  What can we do for you?"

            Niller took a seat on the couch, his nondescript businessman attire contrasting with the fire engine red of the couch.  "Came to see if you've gotten a hold of any account numbers or intel on other members."

            Artemis quickly found the file with the papers, as well as photographs from a few of he camera's he'd planted at the building.  The agent was impressed.

            "So, have you found out who exactly you're going to talk to?"

            "We're supposed to have the file dropped off very soon, we'll tell you as soon as we get it."

            Niller started to leave, but Artemis stopped him, holding up a hand silently as he watched the video feed from the downstairs.  Barbara came over to see exactly what he was looking at.  Other than the handful of tenants ambling in and out, there was a newcomer.  Their papers were here.

            "Go take him to your bedroom and don't let him out until I say so.  If he's found here it could be disastrous, and I'd rather not get anything on the carpet.  Blood's hard to get out of white carpeting."

            She ushered him to the room, and came back over to where he was standing.  The delivery boy was having problems getting the lift to get to their floor. 

            "Just override the damn thing."

            Artemis scowled at his partner, but she was already staring intently at the screen.  "What?" he said crossly.

            "I can't tell if he's packing heat or not," she said quickly, obviously she was annoyed at him.

            Artemis looked closer.  The guy was pulling on the cord, but he was leaning oddly.

            "He has a holster on his left side with a fairly heavy piece of metal in it."  And then he turned to just the right angle.

            "Probably something showy like a Desert Eagle.  Usually 50 caliber."  Artemis glanced sideways at her, and looked away.  "So I like guns."

            Artemis shook his head and hit the override switch for the elevator.  The person inside jumped as it gracefully ascended, looking around for the reason.  He turned to Barbara.  "Perhaps we have something showy to show him?"

            That was a joke.  He was starting again.

            Barbara took out an extremely polished Colt.  He raised an eyebrow.  "Loaded?"

            She nodded.  "Girl Guide Motto: Be prepared."

            He was about to ask her if she ever had _been_ Girl Guide, but had to stop since their visitor was quickly coming towards the door.  Artemis nodded to Barbara to open the door.  She swung him in.

            "Why, hello," Artemis held out a hand.  "The papers please."

            Barbara glared over the delivery boy's head, pointing at her own gun, and he ignored her as the visitor readily handed over the papers, anxious to leave. Artemis shuffled through them for a minute and then satisfied, opened the door for him.  The man quickly walked past, but not before Artemis held up a hand.

            "Tell Uncle Dimitrov that we really don't like when he sends messengers packing heat."  He shut the door and found Barbara glaring at him.

            "Is there something on my face, or are you asleep with your eyes open?"

            "Neither.  You just made a giant ordeal out of getting papers from some zit-faced kid who's probably pissing his pants!"

            "It never hurts to be prepared, you said so yourself."

            Barbara shook her head and started down the hallway, but stopped when she heard his quick intake of breath.  Alarmed, Barbara turned to see what was wrong.

            Of all the ironic situations he had been in so far, this was the worst.  Their were numerous photographs of their targets.

            His father.

            A photograph taken with a telephoto lens showed him mid step with his school uniform on, completely ignorant of the fact that someone was targeting him, willing to kill him to make his father a part of a deal that he'd want no part in.

            Barbara gently took it from him, and went through the deck.  "A certain song by Allanis Morrisette comes to mind…"

            He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.  "P-pardon?"

            "Forget it," she took the folder and the photographs and put it into a laptop case on the kitchen counter.  "Just get changed, okay?  We'll figure something out."

            They were first class tickets on a rather expensive plane, a comfort that Artemis only dimly acknowledged as he filed into his seat.  Barbara was biting a nail and he could see it out of the corner of his eye; it was grating on his nerves.  

            "I'll go to your house, and you'll go to the wrong school," Barbara moved on to her pointer finger.  "Or, Lord, I don't know, Artemis.  Could you perhaps lend a hand?"

            "Hm?" he looked over at the laptop she had on her lap, a map of his house was on it.  "Oh, plan, yes.  Well, my parents _will_ recognize me; so the less contact I have with them, the better.  I'll wait in the car, I suppose?"

            "But what will we tell them when we can't find _you_ to kidnap?"

            The whole situation, in any other case, would have been down right funny.  However, this was him, and his family, and Artemis wanted to get it over and be done with it as soon as possible.

            She sipped her soda.  "If we don't come back with money-"

            "I know, I know."

            "We'll just have to get it from somewhere else."

            The airport at Ireland was just as he'd remembered it, and the smell and sound was comforting.  He felt positively giddy as they made their way to hotel, an upscale one with the apartment nearly on top of it.  Upon the realization of this fact, Artemis grumbled.

            "Oh, lighten up, you.  It's only temporary."  Barbara threw her suitcase onto her half of the bed.

            Bed.  One.  Singular.

            Their heads shot up almost simultaneously, now very aware of the close quarters that they'd be sharing for the next few days.  One bathroom, one room, one sitting room.

            "Well, like you said, 'only a few days'…What in God's name are you doing?"

            Barbara had picked up a pillow and an extra sheet from the foot of the bed, and was walking back into the other room, depositing them on couch.  "And that's why you won't be upset about the couch."  She walked past and back into the bedroom, and started to unpack.  Artemis sputtered.         

            "Why not every other day or something?  I think this should be up to negotiation."

            Barbara placed her robe over a chair.  "I really do believe you should be a bit more chivalrous, especially towards your girlfriend, _Dixon_."

            Artemis found the door shut in his face with the excuse she was freshening up.  He shook his head.  "Women."

            "It's seven, and we need to talk. About our plans."  Another glass of orange juice was sitting in front of him. He sat up and stretched, suddenly regretting it. Sleeping on the couch had been extremely uncomfortable.

            "Excellent choice in evening apparel."  Barbara blushed.

            "We have to show them some sort of sign that we really _did_ talk to him.  I'll go in and explain the situat-"

            Artemis sat up.  "No!  You _cannot_ tell them that I'm apart of this.  Do you understand?"

            Barbara nodded, sighing.  "Okay, okay.  But if I'm going to have to go in, you have to monitor surveillance.  Just because it's your home doesn't mean that we're completely safe.  Now go shower quickly."

            Artemis actually had to say that the job MI did on the car was quite good, and there was no outward sign that it was different from any other car.  He pulled out the laptop and hacked into his very own system.

            "Having fun?" asked Barbara from the backseat, who was setting up her wiring.  He smirked.  

            "I'm very proud to say that even _I_ am having difficulty getting past my own security."

            "Is your memory slipping?"

            Artemis turned around.  "I created it seven years ago."

            "Oh.  Good job."

            Artemis started to pull up the driveway, stopping at the gate.  Barbara asked to be allowed in, and they readily agreed.

            "You might want to tell your parents to be more careful."

            "Well, the very next time I'm technically here, I will."

            "Is Mr. Fowl home?"

            The young blonde eyed her.  "And you are?"

            "Barbara Damphirski.  It's a business meeting I must have with him."

            "He's no-"

            "Oh, Juliet, lighten up.  Artemis Fowl, how can I help you?"

            For a brief instant Barbara couldn't believe how strong the resemblance was, but quickly stuck out her hand.  "Barbara Damphirski.  I have a matter of utmost importance to you that I need to discuss."

            Artemis frowned, a sudden memory from days before popped up.  'Catarina'?

            She disappeared inside.

            "Damphirski, huh?"

            "Yes, sir."

            "I suppose your father hasn't heard that I've quit the business, huh?"

            "I suppose he hasn't…One moment, please."

            She flipped open her phone.  Artemis was on the other side.  "In?"

            "Yes."

            "Clean?"

            "If I'm talking to you, it obviously is."

            She'd make sure to be extremely catty when they were in the car.  "Mr. Fowl," she fished the badge out of her pocket.  "I'm here with MI5.  We need your cooperation."

            Mr. Fowl's grip on the decanter tightened.  "Since I've waken up in the hospital, and before hand, I've gone straight."

            She nodded.  "We know that, Mr. Fowl.  We simply are asking you to do something for us."

            Mr. Fowl sat down in a high backed chair.  "I'm all ears."

            "We are taking down the Damphirski crime ring, and my uncle has decided to start selling bombs.  Undetectable, remote controlled bombs that are extremely volatile.  I'm working under cover to stop them.  However, we supposedly were coming to solicit to you this bomb, and hold your son at ransom if necessary, to ensure your part in this."

            "Arty, is he okay?"

            "He's fine, Mr. Fowl.  But if someone calls, asking about a meeting with me, you must tell them that you agreed.  If they ask specifics, just get a little angry or something."

            He nodded.  "Is there anything else I can do?"

            She shook her head.  "This alone, is helpful, sir."

            "Dimitrov."

            "It's Dixon."

            "What's the matter?  Nothing is wrong, is it?"

            "Of course not, but I haven't been able to secure the kid."

            "Why the hell not?"

            "He's with his body guard."

            "Well, shit."

            Barbara hurried out to the car.  "Who were you talking to?"

            "Your uncle."

            "I told him we couldn't get a hold of me because my butler was with me…my, I never thought I'd say that…what did he say?"

            "He'd answer that we had seen him and he'll be paying in a week if they ask."  She slipped her ID back into her pocket.  "Call him and tell him everything is fine."

            "He's your uncle!"

            "Just call him and you can pick where we eat tonight."

            "What did you have in mind?"

            She smirked.  "Fast-food.  Greasy, fatty, cheap fast food."

            "I'll call."

            "That's where I go to school."  He broke the silence as they drove past a tall, wrought iron gate with a large old building behind it.

            Barbara shook her head.  "That place?"

            "What's wrong with it?"

            She shrugged, crossing her arms.  "It's just a little creepy.  I could never see myself going to school there.  It must be unbearable."

            "Well, you couldn't, actually, because it's an all boy's school.  And the students are worse than the school."

            "Hm," she went back to looking out the window.

            "Catarina."

            "Да?, не то он имеет значение†," she mumbled sleepily.

"2 красотка спать ‡.  Can I come in?"

"You already are in here aren't you?" Barbara turned on the bedside lamp, slightly angry that she was being woken up so late, or rather, early.  "What's the matter?"

"Your uncle called you Catarina."

Suddenly, she was serious.  "He did."  She gestured to the chair.  "Sit."

"Why?"

"It's my Russian name.  My real name.  My father liked Barbara, and I hate it, but it stuck."

            An airplane flew overhead and they both winced.  She bit her lip and crossed her arms in front of her.  "At least I'm not named something _extremely_ strange, like Rainbow or something."

            "Something like Artemis?"

            "No!" she said quickly. "No, it's a bit…unorthodox, but it's interesting."

            Artemis raised an eyebrow as she started to laugh.  "What's so funny?"

            "Your father called you Arty.  It was just…unexpected."

            "Are you always this inarticulate at two in the morning?"

            "I'm not usually up at this hour.  Do you always ask questions at two in the morning?"

            "It depends on the company I have at the time."

            She sighed.  "Go to bed, Artemis.  I'm tired, tomorrow we're going back and I don't want to."

            "Can I just sleep on the chair?"

            She sat back up.  "What?!"

            "I don't like the couch."

            Barbara sighed and kicked the sheets off.  "Fine, take the bed.  I'll go sleep on the couch."  She shook her head.  "Whiney."

            "Wake up." 

            Her eyes opened slowly, and the crick in her back told her that they _had_ spoken, like she remembered.  "Bloody couch."

            "Your uncle called."  Artemis had a toothbrush in his mouth as he spoke.  "Our plane leaves tonight.  We just have to make sure nothing happens to us until then."

            She yawned and sat up, patting down her bed head.  "What's that supposed to mean?"

            "Well, apparently, your uncle angered one of the possible buyers."

            She felt her stomach drop, and she started to call her uncle everything she could think of under her breath.  "Do I even want to know?"

            "Well, the guy was Irish, and-"

            "SHIT!"

            "That's precisely what I thought you'd say.  He's got a few men here.  They're probably on their way here."

            She started frantically throwing things into her suitcase, and even his clothing.  "Why the hell are you just standing there with a friggin' toothbrush in your mouth.  Move your ass!"

            "Do you talk to your mother with that mouth."

            For a moment he saw a flash of pain, but then a blouse that wasn't fitting in the bag took her attention.  "I can't.  Hurry up!"

            They were out of the room in ten minutes, and they went down the street to a lesser hotel where they checked in and hastily stowed their things.  It was a nice room, but again, only one bed.

            "I cannot believe this."

            Barbara turned around, now horrified.  "What?"

            "The laptop."

            "Shit."

            "We have to go back.  There's too much on there just to leave."

            "Can't you hack into it from another computer?" she was frantic.  He shook his head.

            "The encryption would take all day to get past."  He grabbed the keys.  "Come on."

            "Wait."

            She grabbed two guns and stuffed her pockets with clips, and put a few in his pockets.  They were ten minutes away. It took them four.

            They made their way down the hallway slowly, listening with as much intensity as possible.  They made their way to the door, and saw it was open.  Artemis took in a sharp breath before he entered, but was relieved to see the cleaning cart.  Barbara entered after him and grabbed the laptop and its case.

            "Wait a second."

            She turned around.  "What?"

            "Why don't we here her in here?"

            The bullet tore past him and he felt a sting across his chest.  Instinctively he dove behind the couch. 

            Barbara appeared seconds later.  He grimaced.  "How many?"

            "I saw two."

            "There's probably another."

            A bullet flew by, and she peeked around the corner and shot a few rounds. "One down," she said breathlessly.  

            Artemis looked underneath the couch and aimed at one of the assailant's legs.  Two rounds and whoever it was, was down.  He could see a slumped figure in a cleaning outfit in the bathroom, and suddenly there was another person coming out.  Two bullets prevented them from shooting at them.            

            Barbara had her eyes closed, breathing heavily.  Artemis swallowed.  "I think that's it."

            "I'm going to check her for a pulse."

            Artemis looked down.  He had gotten lucky; the bullet had merely taken a slight bit of skin with it.  It was still enough to bleed.

            "She'd dead."

            Artemis turned to see Barbara squatting in the bathroom, her monotonous voice surprising him. The pain was getting worse.

            "Oh my God.  You're hurt."

            "Brilliant observation."

            She already had the cell phone out, contacting MI5.  Artemis sat down. He went to wipe some sweat away, and realized that he couldn't move his right arm too easily.

            "Artemis?  The police are on their way.  We've gotta get out of here."

            "My arm."

            She helped him up.  "I'm driving.  We'll get you fixed up."

            "This is probably going to sting."

            "What was that for!"

            Barbara only bit her lip, dabbing gingerly, the silence wasn't helping much in the few following minutes.  Artemis opened one eye, keeping the other as close to squinting without looking like it.  He might as well break the silence.

            "I was lucky."

            "Hmm.  I never thought I'd hear that from you."  She rummaged through her purse for a moment and took out a bottle.  "Take this."

            "Halved medicine?"

            "Halved Vikiden, to be specific.  It fell off a truck, so don't ask, just take it."

            "Are you okay?" it came out.  It seemed strange to ask it, as if it went without saying, but from her startled glance he guessed it was a surprise.  

            Her hand went to his forehead, and she shrugged.

            "Could have sworn this whole conversation was brought on by fever."  She applied a band-aid and shoved his good arm to make him move off of the counter so she could wash her hands.  Artemis got into bed.

            The light in the bathroom went out as she closed the door, and moments later Barbara came back out in a nightgown.  He rolled over to keep from laughing, since he now felt the sudden urge to do so.  Bloody drugs.

            There was an added weight in the bed.

            "What the hell are you doing?"

            "Sleeping, you roll that way, I'll sleep this way.  I won't be here all night, so stop whining."

            He couldn't protest much, because suddenly the tension that was in his jaw and he hadn't even realized it was gone, and his eyes couldn't stay open.

If you like my stuff, even though it's posted underneath Mystery for Sherlock Holmes, go check out my yahoogroup: Rose with Thorns.  

†  Yes?  It's very early.

‡2, sleeping beauty.


	3. Of Vomit and Crackers

            The coffee was utterly disgusting, but it was all there was to drink the following morning other than tap water.  Artemis would never drink tap water.  Never.  He, much to her protesting, used the last bottle of water to make the coffee.

            "Our flight is in a few hours.  We leave from the other side of Ireland, it's…ye gods, I suck with this Gaelic stuff, but its near Cork.

            Artemis sucked in a long breath.  They'd barely make it from Malin to the airport.  It was time to call in some help.

            He flipped open his own cell phone.  "Whom are you calling?"

            He smiled.  "The best driver in Ireland."

            "What the hell are you doing in Malin, Artemis?"

            He'd never heard him curse before.  He'd never heard _himself_ curse before until the other day.  He'd be talking like a truck driver if things kept going the way they were.

            "Butler, I will explain everything when you get here, but I must insist you do not tell my parents.  Tell them you're going to visit me."

            There was a sigh, and it was wheezy.  Suddenly Artemis could hear how old he was.

            "Alright, but you had better explain everything when I get there."

            "I will, old friend."

            "Would you _please_ stop ogling at me?  He's safer than taking the train.  Or the ferry, or anything for that matter.  Your uncle's an idiot and that man will have his associates checking every sensible way out of this place.  They'll be looking for one or two people, but never three.  _Trust_ me.  The man has been my constant companion since I was born.  I trust him with my very life."

            Barbara sighed, and threw a hand through her hair.  "Fine.  Not like I can do anything about it, now."

            "You'd better start talking soon, because I can and will take you with me."

            "Butler, if you could just wait until we reach the room."

            They made their way down the hall and Artemis could already see his hand was flexing, itching to be wrapped around the butt of a gun.  Artemis chuckled, patting his arm.

            "There isn't anything to worry about.  This place is much safer than where I just checked out of, I assure you."

            It barely took a second for Butler to have the gun pointed at Barbara's forehead.  She raised an eyebrow at Artemis.

            "He's slightly overprotective."

            "I gathered."

            Butler never took his eyes off of Barbara.  "Who is she and what is she doing in this room?"

            "Butler, this is Barbara Damphirski."

            "Whatever you got yourself into, I'm sure I can get you out of it."

            Artemis shook his head.  "Put your gun down, Butler.  I'm very sure things are quite different than whatever you're imagining them to be.  Barbara and I are working for MI5, undercover."

            "My uncle isn't the brightest crayon in the box; we were shot at this morning, and now we need a way to get out of here and to Cork Airport as soon as possible.  I apologize for this lack of notice."

            He nodded, then turned to Artemis. 

            "Butler, please. It's either this or a boat, and I really don't care for them."

            Butler finally lowered the gun.  "So what exactly does that entail?"

            Artemis shrugged.  "_Bof_.  Drive us to the Cork within a few hours; it's not too much to ask, is it?"

            "How quickly?"

            Artemis smiled.  "At speeds that only you can reach."

            Butler sighed.  "Fine.  Alright…now you having me lie to your parents."

            Butler grabbed his arm as he got out of the car, fixing him with a glare.  "If anything happens," he held up his phone.  "You're a genius, so use that brain up there. I don't want to have to explain why you aren't coming home."

            Artemis laughed.  "I assure you, that will _not_ be happening."

            Barbara stuck a hand in past her partner.  "Thank you, Mr. Butler."

            "Give my regards to your father."

            "I'm afraid I can't do that.  Next time you're in Helsinki, you can tell him yourself."

            He nodded, and they turned.  Butler's instincts screamed at him to follow them, but he was sure it was probably just separation anxiety.

            "You, Uncle, are a complete idiot."  Artemis punctuated his point by slamming his Glock onto the table, making sure it left a dent. "It's common sense: do not anger an Irishman."

            Her uncle gave them a look of attempted sympathy, but it came out looking as if he had gastric pain.  Artemis threw the money on the table.  It'd been delivered earlier that morning along with the milk by MI.

            "We're tired.  We're going home.  Don't bother us for a while."

            "Now, come on-"

            "He got shot, you stupid fuck!"  Both men turned and stared at Barbara.  "Shot!  Because you're a dickhead who has got common sense equivalent to a piece of cardboard!"

            Domitrov gaped.  Artemis took this as the opportune moment to place his arm around her shoulders and lead her out.  "Excuse her, and me," inwardly, he cringed, "we just need some sleep and a drink or two, and we should be fine." 

            Domitrov was left to stare at the Glock on the desk.

            "I'm going to go for a jog, okay?" Artemis put down his paper and started to get up. She shook her head.  "No, I don't want to interrupt your reading, I'll be gone for like an hour, tops."

            The door shut and there was silence.  Finally.  An hour of it.

            He went back to reading. 

            It had been two hours.  He was going crazy.  Artemis called her phone.  'Fur Elise' started playing a few rooms over.  He cursed out loud.

            Grabbing his jacket, he ran out of the apartment and took the stairs as quickly as he could.

            He'd never run faster.

            He scanned all their usually stops. Nothing.  No sign of her in the pizza parlor.  He fell down onto a bench seat.

            Had their Irish 'partner' gotten her?  There wasn't a way to carry any sort of weapon in what she'd been wearing.  It was getting colder and he knew he'd have to call MI soon to let them know she was missing.

            Hands stuffed in his pockets, he started back to the apartment, going through Cimetière de Passy. 

            He recognized her shirt from a while off.  She was the only one wearing something sleeveless at that time of night.  He jogged over.  "Catarina!"

            Her head shot up.  She turned around. 

            He collapsed onto the bench next to her.  "You know, I really do hate all this running…You said you'd be ba-"

            "Oh, God, I didn't realize what time it was!"  She looked at her watch.  "Artemis, I'm so sorry.  Lord, I feel like an idiot."

            "As you should," he huffed.  "You're about a block away from Bois de Boulogne…any cheap perverted man loo-" he glanced around, and then hastily took of his jacket and threw it over her shoulders.  "Come on…what are you doing in a cemetery?"

            "It's quiet."

             He gave a dry laugh.  "I'd never have guessed."

            "So how much should we put you down for?" It had been three weeks and this was their fourth partner/ client…Dimitrov couldn't decide on what to call them. His hand was hovering over his PDA.  The woman in front of him tapped a finger on her jawbone. 

            "I'd say two million sounds nice, doesn't it?"

            "Sounds nice."

            Artemis slipped the PDA and the pen across the desk, and she signed it quickly, staring up and him as she did, finally, she spoke.  "Tell me, why exactly are you doing this?"

            "I beg your pardon?"

            Miss Carteza rested her face on her palm.  "By aiding your girlfriend's uncle, you're assuring the death of hundreds, perhaps thousands.  That sort of thing isn't a small _peccadillo_, my dear.  You are young, and have a long life.  Why taint it so early?"

            "It's a small price for the money, miss.  You yourself proved you agree when you signed our little agreement."

            "True," she signed.  "But I am older than you.  I have enemies.  With the right amount of money, I'll hold off detonating the thing for a while.  I suppose your right."

            Artemis nodded and got up; a feeling of nausea was rising in his gut.  He muttered a quick goodbye.

            He dry wretched, which was a pleasant change from the vomit.  His arms shook and he rested his forehead on his hand.  If only his twelve year old self could see him now.  He'd kick him.

            Had he suddenly lost the testicular fortification that had allowed him to ruthlessly buy out whole crime families?  What of all the deaths he may have caused, without thinking about it?

            What if they failed, and her uncle went through with the plans?

            He wretched again, squinting his eyes.  The front door opening sounded five times louder than it usually did, on account of his migraine.

            "Are you home?"

            "Yeah," he hurriedly wiped at his mouth.  He flushed quickly and started towards the sink, but she was too quick.

            "It wasn't the eggs this morning was it?" she asked as she guided him to the kitchen.  She put a plastic cup of something in his hand, and she told him to drink.  It was flat Coke.

            They sat in silence for a while.  "It's been bothering me, too."

            "I don't know what you're talking about."

            "Hint, flush while you do it, less noticeable that way."

            "And you do this often? Do you have anorexic tendencies I should know about?"

            "No…What did you used to do for fun?"

            "What?" he took a slow sip. "This is _me_ we're talking about.  You know, little old man stuck in a sixteen year old's body?  I don't know what fun is."

            "Hm, so nausea causes you to become blatantly sarcastic. I'm being serious."

            He studied the cup.  "It's not…favorable.  You'll think I'm…No."

            "Oh, come on."  She leaned forward, now interested.  "I'd dance.  I mean like anywhere anytime.  It can't be as bad."

            "I painted, okay?  Just laugh and get it over with."

            "What's so funny about that?"  She shrugged.  "Perhaps you should take that up again.  It'll get your mind off of things."

            "I suppose it could work…but promise I won't come home one day and find you gyrating across the living room."

            She rolled her eye.  "I did _ballet_.  Dear Lord, Artemis."

            "How many more people is he trying to sign on?"

            "Three more."

            "That gives us a week…are we going to be ready in a week?"

            "Are we?  I'm sorry, Artemis, but I just don't know anymore.  If MI was really behind us all the time, where were they when we really needed backup?  I'm starting to think that they really weren't joking when they said we were extendable."

            Artemis shrugged.  "They worry about themselves, just like every other person I've ever met.  Except Butler.  But Butler's employed to watch out for me."

            "Lord knows you need it."

            "At least my father isn't responsible for about twenty deaths a week," he shot back.

            She shrugged.  "Not my problem."  She stretched and started to leave.  "I think we're not having dinner tonight, unless you consider a pack of saltine crackers dinner."

            He let out a fake sound of pleasure.  "Oh, your gourmet tastes exceed my measly taste buds."

            "Yeah, you're funnier when you're nauseous.  I'll have to start giving you syrup of Ipecac to keep things lively around here."

            "Good _night_, Barbara."  He called from around the corner.  She called from the couch.

            "Remember, flush!"


End file.
